


What Sherlock Didn't See

by allonsysherlocklove



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Implied Slash, M/M, Slashy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsysherlocklove/pseuds/allonsysherlocklove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not often that John sees something Sherlock does not. Sherlock/Lestrade</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Sherlock Didn't See

It was a normal afternoon at Baker Street, well, as normal at it gets around Sherlock. I was on my laptop idly tapping keys, trying to decide how I was going to finish up my blog post about our last case. It never ceases to amaze me how Sherlock can come up with such accurate observations from so little evidence. The last case, for example, completely astonished me. He figured out not only who the murderer was, but what the motivation was from the perfume that the victim was wearing and the mud on her shoes. That man is bloody brilliant, but sometimes he scares me.

 

Sherlock was at the kitchen table looking at fingernails under his microscope. Molly had a fresh batch that she had given to him this morning. I swear, the poor girl is getting more and more pathetic every time we see her. Sherlock's obviously not helping with the way that he's leading her on.

 

I heard Sherlock's phone go off, and a moment later Sherlock called my name. I'm so used to this nonsense by now that I was already halfway out of my chair. I'm becoming the man's bloody retriever.

 

"Yes, Sherlock?" I asked.

 

"Phone."

 

"Where?"

 

"Table."

 

I picked up his phone, which was less than two feet from his left hand and passed it to him. I looked over his shoulder and read the text.

 

"Murder @ 14 Lexington St. 2 victims. Can you come? -GL"

 

Sherlock jumped up and said, "John, get your coat. We're leaving." He looked back at his phone, presumably texting Lestrade. I walked over to my chair and grabbed my coat. My shoulder had been hurting for days now, ever since the last case when I was tackled and I landed on that shoulder. I put my jacket on carefully and met Sherlock downstairs. He was nearly bouncing from excitement; it was somewhat ridiculous the way his curly hair was bouncing.

 

"Sherlock," I said, "you look ridiculous."

 

"The game is on, John! That's all that matters."

 

"Three nicotine patches?" I guessed.

 

"Of course! I have to be able to focus. You know the work comes before everything else."

 

"You really need to stop doing that. It's not healthy." Sherlock ignored me, as usual. We were waiting outside and waiting for a taxi to pass by now. Sherlock waved one down, and we climbed in. Sherlock gave the driver directions and settled back in in the seat with his eyes closed until we arrived at the crime seat.

 

As we approached the scene, Lestrade came up to us. He looked exhausted. He had ever since his wife had left him. I swear, he's been spending more time at the Yard than he has been at home. I've honestly been concerned about his health. He's gotten really pale, and he just looks unhappy all the time. I changed tracks when Lestrade greeted us.

 

"Sherlock. Dr. Watson."

 

"What do you have for me, Lestrade?" Sherlock asked brusquely.

 

"Two victims. They're in the flat over here. One male, one female. Both have been cut up pretty badly, but I don't think that was the cause of death."

 

Sherlock turned quickly and walked into the flat. I started to follow Sherlock, but I hesitated for a moment. I turned back to Lestrade and asked, " Are you okay?"

 

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

 

"You just look a bit off. Do you ever take anytime off?"

 

"There's no reason for me to. Don't worry about me, Dr. Watson. I'll be fine. I'm just a little tired. It's no big deal."

 

I looked at him skeptically, but I let the subject drop. I glanced at him one last time and went into the flat. Sherlock was bent over the man's body with his gloved finger in the mouth. I glanced over at the female's body. Both bodies had several deep gashes, but there wasn't much blood on or near the bodies. They were both well-dressed, and the woman was wearing several pieces of expensive-looking jewelry.

 

"John, what do you think?" Sherlock asked.

 

I was used to this by now, so I had already been looking for a cause of death.

 

"Well, there are several deep wounds on their bodies, including across their necks, but there's hardly any blood, so they were probably made post-mortem."

 

"Good," he said impatiently. "What else?"

 

"Both of them seemed to have suffered some type of convulsion before they died. There's some dried saliva around their mouths, and the positions of their bodies seems to support that. Seizures could have been a result of epilepsy or a blow to the head."

 

"Or? There is no evidence of of head trauma."

 

"Um. Overdose could cause it. Poison perhaps? I haven't seen any injection sites."

 

"Ah, but there is one. Come here." I walked over, and Sherlock pulled down the victim's lower lip. He pointed to a spot on the inside of the lip. There was a small red mark there.

 

"Brilliant, Sherlock!" I exclaimed. This man never ceased to amaze me.

 

He gave me a slight smile, then continued. "They are married, very well-off. He's a banker; he carries business cards that suggest this. There's nothing missing, credit cards or cash, so it was not a robbery. This was pre-meditated, obviously, because the poison had to be prepared ahead of time and injected.

 

Lestrade walked through the door just then. "Do you have anything for me yet, Sherlock?"

 

"It's the youngest son. He was in a tight spot. He's a cocaine addict most likely, in trouble with his dealer. The parents cut him off, and he killed them to get his inheritance."

 

Lestrade's mouth hung open for a moment, then he said, "I really should not be surprised by you. I've known you for bloody years."

 

"Yes, well I must have been a good influence on you. You are learning. Shall I drop my statement off at your office in the morning? I really must be off."

 

"Uh, yeah, sure...Um, anyway...I'll see you two around then." Lestrade turned and walked out the door.

 

That's a bit odd, I thought. He seemed awfully flustered. A little flushed too. I hope he isn't coming down with something.

 

"Come on, John," Sherlock said, and I followed him out the door. Sherlock hailed a taxi at the road, and we got in.

 

"Sherlock?" I said.

 

"Yes, John?"

 

"Did you notice anything off about Lestrade? He doesn't seem...well. He's been pale for a while, but he looked a little flushed right before we left."

 

"Oh, he's still upset about his wife leaving, and he's using work to occupy his time so he has less time to think about her. Sentiment!" He said the last word like it was a curse.

 

"Hm. That's what I thought, but I wasn't sure."

 

"Yes, well, I'd rather not discuss the detective inspector's love life. It is rather dull." We lapsed into silence until we got back to Baker St. Sherlock immediately picked up his violin when we got back, and started playing while gazing through the window. I sat down in my chair and picked up the medical journal that I had been reading. I always enjoyed it when Sherlock played the violin. It was one of the few times that it was peaceful in the flat. This time, he was playing something slow and mournful. I put the journal down in my lap for a moment and watched him. Something about him was off. It was something about the way that he held himself. His back and arms looked heavy, as if he was unhappy.

 

"Sherlock, are you okay? You look...upset."

 

Sherlock stopped playing and spun around. He looked at me critically for a moment, then turned around again. Then he spoke. "You are really concerned about me, aren't you?"

 

"Well, yeah, I'm your best mate. It's kind of my job."

 

"Hmph. Sentiment! I am perfectly fine, John."

 

"Okay, okay, sorry. Just, if you need to talk about something, I'm here. Okay?"

 

I stood up and grabbed the journal I was reading. As I was walking up the stairs to my room, I heard Sherlock say, "Thank you, John," before he started playing the violin again.

 

 

oooXXXooo

 

 

The next morning, I headed down the stairs to go to work. I looked over at the sofa, and Sherlock was lying there in his thinking pose. He was so still I couldn't tell if he was awake or not. I grabbed my jacket off my chair and slipped in on. My shoulder was feeling much better today, thank goodness. I had a long shift ahead of me, and I needed my strength. I was about to walk out the door when I remembered that Sherlock had to go to the Yard to give Lestrade a statement. Knowing Sherlock, he probably deleted this information. I went over to the couch, and called Sherlock's name.

 

He opened his eyes immediately and replied, "Yes, John?"

 

So, he was awake, "Don't forget, you need to go to the Yard and give Lestrade your statement."

 

"Ah. Yes. Thank you, John. I had deleted it."

 

I've known Sherlock too long if I can predict when he's deleted something. "Yes, well. Don't delete it again. I'm off to work." With that I walked out of the flat and headed to the surgery.

 

 

oooXXXooo

 

 

I was exhausted by the time I got home. The flu was wreaking havoc on London, and I had seen at least fifteen cases of it. I couldn't wait until I got upstairs and made myself a cup of tea. I pushed the door open and stopped in my tracks. The flat was completely destroyed. The chairs and table were overturned, and there were papers and books scattered everywhere.

 

I was just deciding whether I should look over the damage or call the police when Sherlock stormed out of his room and kicked a chair.

 

"Sherlock! What the bloody hell happened to the flat?"

 

Sherlock looked up at me, surprised. "Oh, John. You're back."

 

"Yes, I'm bloody well back. Now explain to me what the hell happened to the flat?"

 

"You can blame Lestrade for this. He made me angry."

 

I gaped at him for a moment. I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to calm down as the anger burned through me. When I felt calmer (but not much calmer), I said in a deadly voice, "Sherlock, you are not a fucking child. You do not get to throw a temper tantrum in our flat and destroy my stuff."

 

Sherlock looked at me with a blank face for a moment, then said, "Well you were not here for me to talk to, so I couldn't really control myself."

 

"Sherlock, I'm going upstairs for fifteen minutes. When I come back down, I want the flat to be in some level of order. Then we will have tea, and we will discuss the problem. Okay?"

 

"Okay."

 

I went up the stairs into my room and changed out of my work clothes into a pair of pyjama trousers and one of my sweaters. I had a feeling that this was going to be a long discussion, and I may as well be comfortable. I sat on my bed and waited for the fifteen minutes to be over. I heard thumps from downstairs as Sherlock turned the furniture the right way. I stood up when the fifteen minutes was up and walked down the stairs.

 

As I appeared at the bottom of the stairs and inspected the room, Sherlock asked, "Better?"

 

"A little." The room was still a mess, but at least there was somewhere to sit. I walked over to the kitchen and started making tea. I turned to Sherlock and said, "Sit down." He looked a bit resentful about being ordered around, but he did it. I finished making the tea, and walked over to Sherlock and handed him his. As I sat down in my chair, I said, "Now, tell me what's wrong."

 

"It's Lestrade! I went by his office today to give him my statement from the case, and he accused me of being blind! Me, John! You know I observe so much more than anyone else!"

 

"Did he say anything before that?"

 

"I mentioned that you thought that he looked ill, and he told me to drop it. I asked him if it was about his ex-wife, and he said no. So, I asked him what was bothering him. He said that nothing was bothering him. At that point, he started getting really angry."

 

"Oh, because, you know, everyone just loves getting the third degree when something is bothering them," I replied sarcastically.

 

"Stop being sarcastic, John. It doesn't suit you," he snapped. I raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't look at me like that," he continued. "I was just trying to help him. He was there for me when things were...bad." His voice trailed off, and he looked ashamed.

 

"Oh, you mean when you were still using cocaine," I realized.

 

"Yes," he replied softly. "He kept trying to get me to stop using by letting me do cases. He tried to get me to go to a rehabilitation facility. I wouldn't go. And, when I overdosed, he saved my life."

 

Sherlock's tone was odd, almost tender. I was still thinking about it when he continued. "Anyway, I kept pushing him to tell me what the problem was. He finally looked at me and shouted, 'My god, can't you see what's right in front of your face? You're so fucking blind!' Those were his exact words."

 

"I'm assuming you left at this point?"

 

"Yes. I decided that it was for the best. I didn't feel like going to prison today." I snorted at this. Sherlock continued, "When I left, he looked crushed." Sherlock was silent. I thought about it for a moment, and then it clicked. "Oh!" I exclaimed.

 

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, looking alarmed.

 

"Hold on, I have to think about it for a moment." Sherlock looked at me impatiently while I went over all the interactions between Lestrade and Sherlock that I could remember. I was sure when I spoke. "Sherlock, you have been blind."

 

"Not you too, John," he grumbled.

 

"No, listen. I think Lestrade might have feelings for you."

 

"What?"

 

"Yeah, think about it. I remember when I first met him, in the Study in Pink case, he said that he needed you. The tone of his voice, it was odd. Now it makes sense."

 

"John, don't be ridiculous."

 

"No, Sherlock. Shut up and listen. He gets angry whenever Donovan or Anderson insult you. He risks his job for you on a regular basis so you have cases."

 

"John, he just needs me for the cases." Sherlock sounded a little sad when he spoke these words. Oh... Sherlock had feelings for Lestrade as well.

 

"Oh, Sherlock, you have feelings for him as well, don't you?"

 

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous." He wouldn't look at me when he said that.

 

I was thinking quickly at this point. Sherlock was about to bolt. I could tell by his tense posture in the chair.

 

"Sherlock," I tried again, "have you deleted these feelings?" His eyes flashed up to mine, and I saw the truth: he had. "Oh, Sherlock. You need to face this. If not for yourself, then for the work.

 

"Listen, I'm pretty sure about this. When you complimented him yesterday, he lit up. I haven't seen him that happy in weeks. You two have a deep bond from when he saved you. I really think you need to talk to Lestrade about this. If you don't, I don't see how you two will be able to work together. There's just too much that's unsaid between you two."

 

Sherlock stared at his hands, refusing to look at me again. I stood up and said, "I'm going to bed now. Just...just think about what I said."

 

 

oooXXXooo

 

 

When I got up the next morning, the flat was silent. I went downstairs and saw that it was still a mess. I sighed deeply and began picking up. This was not how I wanted to spend my day off. Around noon, Mrs. Hudson came up for some tea. We talked for a while, then she headed back downstairs. By this time, I was starting to wonder where Sherlock was. I hadn't heard from him all day. I peeked into his room to make sure he wasn't in there. His bed was still covered with the same books and papers and who knows what else. I closed his door and went back into the living room.

 

By six, I was still puzzled by Sherlock's disappearance. It's not like it was anything new though. Sherlock had disappeared for days before just to show up without a word. I decided to text Lestrade to see if Sherlock was on a case. Lestrade replied that he hadn't seen him since yesterday. I texted Mycroft next. He responded that Sherlock was safe. I swear, the bloody Holmes brothers were are going to be the death of me.

 

I went to bed early because I had a shift the next day. When I woke the next morning, I checked the flat for Sherlock, but he still wasn't there.

 

Work was slower today. Flu season seemed to be coming to an end, which is an event many doctors rejoice, myself included. Sarah came into my office around four and told me I could go home early. Thank god for that; I'd had an exhausting few days.

 

As I climbed the stairs to the flat, I heard someone moving around inside. Good, Sherlock's back, I thought. I opened the door and looked over at the sofa. I was greeted by Sherlock and Lestrade snogging.

 

I stood there for a moment, dumbstruck. This was becoming a bad habit of mine. I quietly backed out the door and closed it softly behind me. I sat at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, collecting my thoughts. Sherlock definitely moved quickly; that was his style. I texted Mike Stamford to see if I could sleep on his sofa. He replied that I could, so I went out to get a taxi, right after I stopped for a couple pints.

 

 

oooXXXooo

 

I headed back to the flat the next morning after I stopped for some breakfast at a small cafe near Mike's place. At the top of the stairs, I slowly opened the door, keeping an eye out for Sherlock or Lestrade. The coast was clear, so I walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea. Sherlock came out of his room, so I asked, "Want some tea?"

 

"Yes."

 

I carried his cup over to him then sat down in my chair. I looked over at him and asked, "Lestrade still here?"

 

Sherlock flushed at my words, then replied, "Yes, Greg is still asleep."

 

"So, I'm assuming that I was right."

 

"Yes."

 

"Well, what happened?"

 

"I asked him to come over to discuss the issue since you were at work. I didn't want Anderson or Donovan to overhear our conversation."

 

"Completely understandable."

 

"Yes, well. He came over, and I told him what you had deduced. He told me that you were correct. Then we, um..." He flushed again.

 

"Yes, yes, I get the picture. You don't need to tell me any more. I got an eyeful when I got home from work.

 

Sherlock looked mortified. "Don't worry. I got off early and left as soon as I saw what you were up to."

 

"Yes, well, thank you, John." We sat there awkwardly for a few moments until Lestrade walked out of Sherlock's room wrapped in one of his robes. He saw me sitting in the chair and flushed. I stood up and said, "Good morning, Lestrade."

 

"Uh, good morning, John," he mumbled.

 

"Tea?"

 

"Yeah, please." I went into the kitchen to make his tea. I heard a phone go off in the living room, then Lestrade said, "Murder, down by the river. Sounds Nasty. You up for it?" He glanced up at Sherlock as he spoke.

 

"Of course!" Sherlock jumped up and ran into his room to change.

 

"Is he always like this when I text him about a case?" Lestrade asked me.

 

"Pretty much. You know. I'm glad you two spoke." Lestrade made a noncommittal noise as he got up to go change, but I could tell that he was happy as well.

 

I was heading upstairs to change when Sherlock stuck his head out of his door to tell me to hurry up.

 

"Don't worry Sherlock," I replied, "I'll only be a moment."

 

"Don't keep Greg and I waiting."

 

"Of course not, Sherlock." I walked into my room and shook my head as I started changing. Things were definitely going to be interesting around here.


End file.
